


No Parachute

by berlynn_wohl



Category: U2
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-26
Updated: 2006-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl





	No Parachute

Edge had learned to make certain kinds of knots specifically for this purpose. Knowing that, thinking of the reason for this arcane knowledge that he possessed, gave him an extra little thrill.

Parachute cord was what he used. Standard nylon core-mantle structure, one-eighth of an inch in diameter. He had purchased it at an army surplus store. "Light as a feather, huh?" the proprietor had said, when he put the bundle into Edge's hand. He'd then leaned over the counter conspiratorially. "But the stuff's like steel cable," he whispered. "I strangled a VC to death with it at Khe Sanh."

Edge had twitched. "But…that's not what it's for, right? I don't have to kill anyone with it?"

  
*****

  
Edge set up candles and gave Bono a bath. Washed his hair, massaged his scalp, the works. He gave Bono a few teasing touches with wet fingertips, and Bono begged in vain for more. He pulled Bono out of the tub, wrapped him in a towel, and in the time it took to finish kissing him, the air had dried his skin. Bono was a pliant plaything now. Edge could turn him any way he pleased.

"Come over here. Don't lie in the middle," Edge said, and Bono scooted over. It was a high bed, the kind you have to climb into. And there were always sixteen pillows for some reason. Edge had reduced this quantity beforehand.

"I feel like I might fall off," Bono said, and looked over the side of the bed as if it were a building.

"I won't let you fall off. You need to be over here." The bureau drawer was already open a crack, and Edge took from it two lengths of the parachute cord. He'd cut them himself; the VC-killer had shown him how to melt the ends with a lighter so they wouldn't fray. He went back to the side of the bed, left the drawer open. Bono lay flat on his back, rocking his head from side to side, as though there were a tune in his brain.

The first length of cord went around Bono's right wrist. Then Edge bent Bono's knee so his ankle was pressed against the back of his thigh. He lashed wrist to ankle.

"Is that too tight?"

"It's supposed to be tight."

"Why must you always talk back to me?" Edge snapped. "What I want to know is, in five minutes are you going to be complaining because your circulation's cut off?"

"Nuh uh." Bono shook his head in an exaggerated manner. Edge leaned over and did the other wrist and ankle the same. It was not so common a way to tie a friend up, but Edge preferred it, for the way Bono was at once folded up and spread open.

"We're going to play with one of your toys tonight, as well," said Edge, and went back to the bureau.

"Ooh, the red one please? I like the red one."

"No. I have a new toy for you." Inside the drawer, a paper bag rustled, and Edge produced a translucent blue object intended, like Bono's other toys, to imitate the general size and shape of a penis.

"This one has this flared base, see? So you don't have to hold onto it." Sitting on the bed at Bono's feet, Edge used lube from a squeeze bottle to slick the object before he moved to utilize it. When Bono felt the blunt tip of it against his vulnerable opening, he squirmed.

"No, Edge, use your finger first."

With his free hand and one elbow, Edge spread Bono's knees wider, so he might look between them at Bono's face. "You don't tell me No." He kept Bono's knees parted, so Bono could see he was going ahead and not listening to any pathetic pleas.

"I don't like it," Bono whinged. "If no one's holding it, it won't go in and out. I like it going in and out of me."

Edge sighed. "You'll have a cock going in and out of you in a minute."

"Ooh, Edge, you gave it away." Bono smiled, his face glowing with anticipation. "I know what you're going to do now."

Edge stood up and came around to the head of the bed.

"For Christ's sake, close your mouth, you little tart. Now, do you want a pillow?"

"Under my head or my arse?"

"Your head."

"Can I have one under my arse?"

Edge grabbed the pillow that was behind Bono's head. "Yes or no."

"Yes." Bono lifted his head.

"Comfortable?"

Bono grinned and said, in a sing-song way. "I'm a tart."

"Yes, you are." Edge went to pull off his t-shirt, still damp from holding Bono after the bath. But when he glanced down at the bed he paused. For a long minute he just looked at Bono's folded, helpless body, and his eager eyes. With the t-shirt bunched up around his ribs, he brushed one hand over the coarse, dark hair on his own belly. He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down just enough to free his cock and balls. When he felt the cool air, he wondered if Bono was chilly. But no, if Bono was cold he would have complained about it by now.

He was right up against the bed now, thighs pressed against the mattress. "Alright. Now you can open your mouth."

Bono's lips parted just enough to accept the head of Edge's cock. He pushed his tongue flatly against the tip; he wouldn't let Edge put any more in. But he suckled the head with obvious pleasure.

Edge withdrew. "Open wider," he said sternly. He gave his cock again, and this time Bono took so much of it his heart jumped; he thought he might choke. He couldn't recoil. But Edge was just making a point. He retreated a fraction, and then Bono could comfortably lick and suck, which he did as wetly and noisily as he could. His arse clenched around the toy; it was going to make him sore. With his eyes shut he pictured himself, being filled from both ends, utterly unable to prevent it from continuing. He rocked back and forth, to get the toy to nudge the ticklish spot inside him.

Edge slid his cock out and held it, stroking very slowly. "Tell me that you love it," he commanded. "Tell me to put it back in your mouth."

Bono grunted. "Touch my cock," he said mutinously. "It aches."

Edge grabbed Bono by the hair and forced himself between Bono's lips once more. "It's not about you right now," he growled. "It'll be about you later." Then he added, in a threatening tone, "Maybe."

He wouldn't look at Bono anymore. It turned Edge on a little not to care about Bono's feelings. The dark coil of an orgasm was taking shape in his belly. He chased after it.

The first big spurts went right down Bono's throat, but Edge made sure to pull out soon enough to smear the last pulses of come onto Bono's lips, so Bono would have to lick it away. Bono gasped for breath, his chest heaving, eyes not daring to open. Then the tongue came out, to clean those pink, swollen lips.

Bono was so aroused, wound up so tightly, the faintest brush of Edge's fingers on his cock made his eyes water. He strained ineffectually against the cords that held him in place, trying to feel the touch of one more fingertip. Edge's smile at seeing this was of the foggy, post-orgasmic variety.

"It's about you now," he said, keeping one hand on Bono's knee so he wouldn't roll himself over and off the bed. "Do you want to come?" he said faintly.

"Yes!"

"Do you care how?"

"No!"

Edge gripped Bono's cock and it was all over. Bono had almost no leverage to thrust, or give into any of his other motor impulses. He made a noise like the cord was wrapped around his throat, and a tear ran from the corner of each eye.

Edge stroked Bono's forehead, slicked back his sweat-soaked hair. He readjusted his shirt and jeans as Bono looked up at him; before Bono was completely finished with all his little shudders and twitches, Edge was headed for the bathroom.

"Wait," Bono cried. "Don't leave me here like this!" But his plea was unconvincing, shot through with the knowledge that Edge would of course return in only a moment.

He came back with a washcloth and a glass of water. The washcloth had been scalding hot, but in the few seconds it took to get to the bed it had become quite cool. Edge wiped Bono's face where the come had dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He put one knee on the bed, leaning over Bono's bent knees, which were still spread obscenely, and methodically unfolded and refolded the washcloth. He gently withdrew Bono's toy, then tenderly cleaned him up with the cloth and set the toy aside, to be taken care of later.

The knots, which had held Bono fast through the throes of his orgasm, Edge undid with a few simple tugs. Bono knew that he still wasn't allowed to move, and he was too utterly spent to be clever about it. He waited for Edge to take each ankle in both hands and unbend each cramped leg in slow, fluid movements. With deliberate, unshaking fingers Edge rubbed the soreness away, massaging Bono's thighs and inspecting his ankles for bruises. He found only traces of rawness, friction. In time his technique would continue to improve. Taking each of Bono's hands in his own, he kissed the aching wrists, in gratitude.

He gave Bono the water to drink. Even when Bono had the glass in his own hand, Edge kept his arm outstretched, ready to take it back. When Bono had gulped the last of it, Edge set the glass aside. Bono laid himself back down and said, "Oh Edge, when you untie me, I always feel…so…" He shook out his legs, flipped his hands over and back.

Edge got into bed without undressing. "So…?"

"I feel like I've been pushed out of an airplane. I'm falling now."

Edge gathered Bono up in his arms and kissed him on one eyebrow. Bono shut his eyes, because he knew that after the eyebrow kiss was always the eyelid kiss. Edge's lips were dry, but smooth. He paused to yank the covers up and around Bono, who pressed himself closer and wriggled appreciatively.

In the cozy silence, he kissed Bono's lips, pressed the pad of his thumb to the corner of Bono's mouth, where he had cleaned up the trickle of come. The smell of himself was on Bono's breath. He rocked Bono in his arms, humming and sighing with contentment.

"Who's my little snuggle-frog?" he said.

Bono laughed with embarrassment and tried to roll away. "Oh, fuck off, Edge."

Edge seized Bono's arm and resumed his commanding tenor. "Don't talk back to me. I said: Who's my little snuggle-frog?"

Resigned, Bono pushed his face against Edge's neck and sighed, "I am."

"That's right," said Edge, and rocked Bono back and forth some more.


End file.
